


Just Hear Me Out Now

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: Marvel (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at the crossroad between “screw up” and “screw it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Hear Me Out Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sorceringing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorceringing/gifts).



> Happy birthday Omii!!! After much hassle, you asked for TommyKate - "pillow talk."  
> You can find Omii at sorceringing.tumblr.com. They've got awesome ya art and are super chill!!
> 
> Also, lyrics are from Don't You Go by All Time Low. I kind of have it set as the HawkSpeed anthem.

_Settle back now and raise a toast_  
_To the young ones, growing old_  
_All the green lights, long nights_ _  
Drinking 'til I made out with you_

They meet at the crossroad between “screw up” and “screw it.” Tommy stands firmly on the latter street as Kate wails her boxing gloves so hard Tommy has to cling to the punching bag to keep from falling. There’s sweat pouring down her face in buckets and all Tommy does is ask what happened, but damn if that wasn’t a mistake.

“Is it enough for me just say” - punch and a grunt - “that I screwed up and they’re all gossiping about it? Or do I” - punch and a grunt - “have to recount my shame to _you_ _too?”_ She practically spits that last part before going in for a roundhouse kick that sends Tommy reeling. It’s like being on a rollercoaster with a heightened chance of falling. Tommy could practice endurance training just by holding her punching bag for half an hour.

“Eh, nah. No reason for people to start telling me stuff _now,”_ he assures. He peeks at her from around the bag. Her teeth are grit in a way that makes Tommy’s jaw sore. Her hair is soaked, strands sticking to her forehead and a natural musk hanging thickly over her. “You’re pretty hot, you know that?” he asks, because no way this girl doesn’t know it, but this level of hotness is something that requires daily acknowledgement. Like a stoplight, although Tommy’s never had much use for those. An idea comes to him. “We should hook up. Go out,” he suggests, before he has the chance to forget.

“We should _clear_ out,” Kate says instead, and yeah, that’s pretty clever. Kate adds something, maybe, but the rest of the Y.A. have gathered by the training room entrance. Tommy wonders if they literally just showed up all at once, or if they’ve been accumulating for a while now.

Come to think of it, whatever. “Come on. You. Me. I know a dive bar that don’t card,” he sing-songs. The memory of that one time a different bartender than usual was manning the counter and they threw him out. “Much,” he disclaims, because he’s not a liar. Not at the moment. That’s a sterling enough record.

Kate’s noticed her pointedly not-boyfriend by now. To her credit, she actually looks back at Tommy when she says, “Sure, it’s a date.”

And it’s a show she’s performing, then by all means, he’s not going to ruin her fun. Either way, he won’t be bored for the next two-three hours. He leans in and pecks her on the cheek. “Sweet.”

She flutters her hand over her heart and smiles like someone’s won her over. It’s the most sarcastic and endearing thing since his own birth. He almost says that, but he catches Billy rolling his eyes at something and he reprioritizes. Kate needs time to shower, or whatever rich girls do before a date. Time to bug the doppelganger.

 

Tommy steals a blazer from Billy. Teddy gets all confused over which one on the team is dating Kate now, but Billy is supportive. He doesn’t ask once for the jacket back. He seems kind of grateful not to have it. Tommy takes this as confirmation to raid his closet more often. He likes making others happy.

The dive bar is lit like a shitty cave with the occasional strobe light that passes over their heads and makes him sort of twitchy. Kate’s got some vintage Hawkeye-inspired cocktail dress on and a headband that makes her hair poof out. It’s the wristbands and belt that make her laughably 80’s, though. He says as much and she tells him in an unnecessarily sweet voice that, silly her, she forgot to ask his approval before she got dressed.

She has the maturity to admit she walked into Tommy’s one-liner with that, at least.

Eventually she gets too buzzed to be saccharine and starts babbling about how good the beer is. Tommy decides this is a good a time as ever to go back on what he said earlier and prod for what shitstorm wrecked her royally. He even tests his luck and tips her chin up, so the alcohol in her breath heats his face. She ducks out of his grasp, but agrees. “Let’s take it outside, zippy.”

“Then Eli decided to give me crap, and I sorta screamed at everybody and went to the gym,” she finishes. Their shadows stretch across the pavement as they pass by a streetlamp.

“And now I’m caught all caught up.”

“Now you’re all caught up.”

“So, just so I know I’m clear,” Tommy begins, “You know _where_ your stuff is, you just don’t _have_ it anymore.”

Kate halts, so Tommy stops walking. “I don’t - yeah, it’s on the Upper West,” she pauses briefly, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s in a building on the Upper West Side, Tommy,” she says, like she’s clarifying anything. She bobs her head in a “duh, dumbass” gesture. “Where the Avengers are living.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his coat pocket. “So then why don’t we just go get it?” he asks, point-blank.

“We do what now?”

“Get it. Take it.”

“Take my stuff?” she reiterates.

Oh, boy. He’s going to have to spell this out for her. “Not just take your stuff, Kate.” He puts his hand on her shoulder and leans down. “We take your stuff _back._ Come on.” He steps back and makes a _vamos_ motion. “Let’s go do some crime.”

They go do some crime. Specifically, she grins wider than the moon and he hefts her into his arms and takes off. Her legs kick out in the air, though, so he moves away from the pedestrians and into the road. It’s probably cooler this way for her, anyway. He runs fast enough to not get hit by cars, but slow enough that her molecules don’t get weird.

They arrive in the lobby in no time, blasting past an elderly couple. They whirl into the elevator, Tommy jabbing the button. Kate stumbles a bit, hair windblown and wild. She gets all giggly as the doors close. “Oh, my _god._ You run so _fast,”_ she remarks in awe.

“Yeah.”

“I totally thought that old lady was totally gonna - ”

“Yeah.” Tommy’s feeling the adrenaline too. “Come here,” he tells her and wraps his arms around her waist. She says his name once and then he has her pressed against the wall, his lips on hers. She still reeks of alcohol, but her skin smells like lavender and they’re both grinning into the kiss. When the elevator dings, she grabs his wrist and drags him into the room.

“We don’t have much time,” she explains excitedly.

“Sure.”

“I don’t want to get caught.”

“It’s crime.” Tommy kicks it into high-gear, speeding around the room in search for her bow. “Who wants to get caught?”

Kate wanders around. “Point,” she admits.

Tommy finally happens upon a giant-ass bow, little swirly things etched along the wood. He has to say Kate’s name twice before she snaps into focus. “This is it, yeah?”

Oh, there she is!” Kate _beams._ “Come to mama!” She surges forward and cradles the thing like a baby. A sharp, deadly baby.

Tommy leans against her back, cupping her arms. “Come here,” he says. He kisses the shell of her ear.

“Tommy, knock it off,” she orders. “We should go soon.”

Tommy complies, easing off her and plunging his hands in his jacket. “Sure, sure. So, look, you wanna go out and - ”

Kate locks her eyes on her bow. “I want to go home.”

Tommy doesn’t, though. Kate’s fun. The most fun he’s had since his cell blew the fuck up and a kid rocking his face told him he was important for some reason. “Still early,” he argues. “We could - ” The ding of the elevator stops him short. They both whip their heads toward the doors.

Kate’s voice is pitched in fear. “Go,” she starts to say.

“Gone,” Tommy replies, and is gone.

 

* * *

 

 _So take a breath now, you don't have to go_  
_It was a fast night, we can take it slow_  
_There were fist fights, red lights_ _  
Running 'til I crashed into you_

 

Tommy’s been chilling in some alternate universe trapped inside a cosmic horror. All’s well that ends well, he guesses, because David turns out to have this life-saving kink for kissing extraterrestrial monsters. The monster is so turned off, it actually lets Tommy go. Something along those lines. He’ll sleep on it. For now, there’s a party.

The first thing that stands out to him in this ritzy party-at-the-end-of-the-world club is Hawkeye. Her long hair’s in a bun and she’s wearing a mask, but there’s no misattributing that quantity of purple. “Kate Bishop!” he cries out. He races to catch her hand in his, pulling her towards him. “It’s New Year’s, apparently!” he informs, just in case she’s forgotten he’s been missing. When they touch chests, he grins down at her. “Why are you not dancing?”

She jerks back and says his name, alarmed. “You’re alive!” she points out. Tommy tries not to think too hard on her acceptance of his death. “What are you doing - and _here?_ How are you _here?”_

Tommy doesn’t plan on addressing that question anymore than whatever word-of-god or decider-of-fates has. “Sorry!” he shouts. “Can’t hear you over my awesome dancing!”

Kate just stands there speechlessly for a couple moments. Eventually, however, she peels off her mask. “You know, I don’t really care,” she dismisses and drops the mask on the floor. She comes forward and grabs the back of his neck, lowering him into a kiss. “Happy New Year,” she wishes.

 

The New Year doesn’t end with a kiss. That might’ve been more romantic, but the New Year is shitty about pacing and the bathrooms here aren’t _that_ bad. Kate is the one to push him into a stall; he just locks it for her. He steps on her toes, she says _ow,_ and Tommy hopes the toilet seat is clean. He spins them around and sits on the toilet, pulling her onto his lap.

“You ever gonna tell me what happened?” she questions. Tommy’s undoing her bun, working the tie out of her hair as gently as possible when it’s been sprayed into straw.

“Thought you didn’t care,” he retorts.

Kate rolls her eyes and removes Tommy’s goggles. “Fine. You caught me. I’m curious.”

Tommy’s finally got her hair down, so he reaches behind his back and unzips the suit. Kate is right on that shit, yanking it down his shoulders and hiking herself up so she can slide the pants to his knees. Tommy tilts his head up to kiss her, brushing out her hair with his fingers.

“Well?” she persists.

Tommy skirts his hands up her thighs. “One discovery at a time, eh?” He gives her a wink. Tommy then dips in between her legs and slides his palms across her skin. “Wait,” he says aloud. “I didn’t bring a condom with me inside the cosmic horror.”

Kate groans. “Goddammit.”

“Hey, it’s chill, chill. We’ll get creative.”

“I didn’t really want creative today,” she pouts, hair tumbling over her shoulders.

Tommy makes a “thbbt” noise with his lips. “Well,” he sighs, “there’s always going home?”

Kate blinks, looks at him strangely. “Oh, right,” she responds, sounding off. Then she laughs. “You know, I think I forgot that was even an option.”

Man, he’s away from the team for half a year and Kate forgets what homelessness looks like. “So, is that a yes?”

Kate smiles. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her warm. “Yeah,” she answers. “Let’s go the hell home.”

 

* * *

 

 _I got my ass kicked, but you held the ice_  
_I was a train wreck, but you took the ride_  
_Can we stay here, right here?_ _  
Nothing else that I wanna do_

 

Tommy tells himself he’s overstayed his welcome everywhere else. That this is a last-resort thing. That this, in no way, reflects what he feels. He knocks on the door. He taps his foot and counts the number of seconds to distract himself from the number of seconds. Kate finally opens the door at 15. “My favorite Hawkeye!” he cheers. He shoots her two finger-guns.

“What the hell happened to your face?” she exclaims. Her eyebrows rise nearly to her hairline in shock.

Tommy stuffs his fists in his jean pockets and shrugs. “Called Doctor Doom a punk bitch and he introduced me to his badass fists of metal.” He glances to the side thoughtfully. “That’s an _awesome_ band name,” he murmurs.

“Badass Fists of Metal, or just Fists of Metal?” she asks automatically. Before Tommy can specify, she goes, “Oh, my god. What am I on?” Kate grabs his overshirt and yanks him into the living room. She slams the door behind them, towing Tommy into the cramped kitchen space of her apartment. Tommy reclines against the counter while she squats down and sifts through her sink cabinet.

She reveals a first aid kit. She sets it on the counter beside Tommy, then opens her freezer and removes a bag of ice. She extends it to Tommy, who obediently holds it to his left eye. She pops open the latch on the kit, taking out the biggest box of bandaids Tommy’s ever seen, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a bundle of cotton swabs. She pours some of the alcohol onto a cotton ball. He eyes the action warily.

“Look, Kate, I appreciate the motherly instinct in you - I probably have some secret mommy issues that you’re plucking the heartstrings for - but that’s gonna hurt worse than the punch did.”

Kate half-smiles. “Don’t be a baby,” she scolds. She motions for him to put the icepack down. She dabs at his cuts with the cotton. There’s a slight sting, but the icepack already cooled his skin, so he doesn’t flinch at the temperature. Her dark hair is everywhere, she’s grown it out again, and it frizzes here and there. Tommy tucks a lock behind her ear, because she touched him first, and Kate pauses to assess him. He meets her gaze.

Whatever he thinks is happening, obviously isn’t. Kate sucks in a breath and comments, “So, I noticed you’re not in-costume. Which means you probably didn’t, like, meet Doctor Doom in the pit.”

“Back alley,” he corrects. Tommy winks. It hurts.

Kate plants a hand on her hip. “Who gave you the shiner, smartass?”

Tommy toys with the bandaid box. “Some mutant protester at David’s workplace. Told him to shut up and he didn’t like that, so.” He points to his eye, then lets his hand fall to his side.

Kate picks the box up and removes a large bandage. She shucks the thin strip of paper and sticks the bandage to the scathe near his brow. She pats it down. “Who won?” she asks.

Tommy scoffs. “Obviously me. Just wasn’t expecting a throw-down,” he mumbles the last part.

“Hm.” Kate faces the counter, resting her arms on the surface. Tommy follows suit. “That just doesn’t make sense to me. No matter how many assaults I see reported on the news, it will never compute how humans get ballsy enough to pick a fight with a mutant.”

Tommy breathes out a laugh. “Your career choice has been picking fights with mutants.”

Kate considers that. “True,” she says simply. “But,” she affixes, “I’m armed.”

Tommy scratches the countertop absently. “Sometimes they are, too,” he reminds.

Kate sighs. It sounds heavy and Tommy worries that he’s killed whatever mood made her hold his face and patch him up. “That’s another thing I’ll never get,” she says finally.

Because Tommy can never shut his mouth, he disagrees. “It makes sense to me.”

Kate looks at him. Tommy keeps his gaze averted, but he can he feel her scrutiny like a lit match hovering by his skin. Tentatively, she places the tips of her fingers on Tommy’s hand. “I’m sorry you’ve had more opportunities to puzzle it out than I have,” she admits, frank. “I’m sorry you ever had to think about what makes people do the things they do.”

Tommy shrugs, eyes downcast. He doesn’t think he can look at her right now. “It’s fine,” he says instead, and before she can protest, he rubs his thumb across her fingers. They curl around his and squeeze.

 

* * *

 

 _Don't you go and carry on with your life_  
_It was a one night stand 'til I woke up next to you_  
_Don't you go, saying all your goodbyes_  
_I want a one night stand, just one more time with you_  
_So give me one more night with you_  


“Whoa!”

Tommy startles awake. He lifts his eyes up and finds Kate in bed, propped on her forearm, beside him. Judging from her bare shoulders, she’s maintained the ratio of clothing to floor since last night. Tommy digs the crust out of his eyes. “Morning, Bishop,” he croaks.

“How tired _were_ you last night?” she asks, eyes blown wide and brows arched like a crossbow. The sun brightens the room, turning the deep violet walls of last night into a chipper lavender.

“Dunno. Average amount?” he estimates.

“Nuh-uh.” Kate shakes her head. The movement jostles the small, dangly amethysts hanging from her ears. “Clearly, you were dead on your feet. Or - back.” She shakes her head again, like an etch-a-sketch for thoughts. She waves at him. “You’re still here.”

Tommy sits up. He’s feeling a little offended. “Was there a time limit?”

Kate falters. “Well, no. But this is,” she mulls over how to finish her sentence. “New,” she settles on.

“You passed out, too,” he accuses.

“My bed!”

Tommy holds his hands up. “That’s cool, it’s your prerogative as an adult woman to fall asleep with strange men in the house. I’m not here to cramp your fast lifestyle.”

 _“Fast?”_ Kate looks around her bedroom in disbelief. Her expression shows something clicking into place. Calmly now, she replies, “Says the guy who fired early.”

“Hey, no commenting on my duration. That’s plain hurtful.” Tommy sweeps his bangs out of his face. “Besides,” he sniffs, “I make up for it with the recharge rate.”

“Oh, my god.” Kate covers her face. “I can’t deal with this. I’m dizzy.”

Tommy presses two fingers to her forehead and pushes her back onto the pillow. “Shh, don’t think. Just sleep.”

“Tommy, I’m not tired, I’m weirded out.”

Tommy stares down at her. “If you want me to go, then kick me out.”

Kate glances away. Drums her fingers on the purple blanket. “No,” she says. “You can stay.”

“Awesome.” Tommy lays back onto the mattress. “Because I got to say, purple is growing on me.”


End file.
